


Comme des enfants

by pearypie



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst, Bright Star - Freeform, Character Study, Confessions, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Married Life, Retrospective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7753732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearypie/pseuds/pearypie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hell is empty and all the devils are here. (Countess Phantomhive learns that light cannot survive in a black hole.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comme des enfants

It has been a fortnight since the birth of their son and Elizabeth has grown accustomed to Ciel’s late hours, how he walks in at half past three to imprint the image of them—Lizzy with her unbound hair and small, round babe tucked by her breast—in his mind before departing on whatever quest the queen has in store for him. They have been married for little over a year and Lizzy became pregnant not two months thereafter. And while she would like to reach for the rose colored glasses of life, she acknowledges that parenthood has not made Ciel any less callous.

He is not the boy who spent hours sitting in a flower field, small hands working pink carnations together in the shape of a flower crown to give to Lizzy. She is sure he does not even remember those faded years, when all the colors were soaked with amber and the warmth of summer never seemed to fade. Wildflowers perfumed the air and the hazy bliss of each afternoon was strung together on an endless chain of memories, loosely held in a child’s hand, the metal warm and comfortable to the touch.

The years have not been kind to either Lizzy or Ciel and this fragment of youth has been tucked away by the former, sealed in some box hidden deep within her heart. She does not know if he has done the same but he must care for her—at least a little—if he is willing to marry and indulge her various whims and fancies. Lizzy tries her best to be a good, efficient wife; she manages the household and oversees her husband’s various estates and entertains important nobles, guests, and dignitaries for his nefarious ploys. He does not tell her so but Lizzy understands; she is hopeful, not ignorant.

Presently—gently—Lizzy’s forefinger comes to trace the plump, round cheek of Gabriel’s small face, how he sleeps so peacefully, unburdened by the wears of the world. He has golden hair and eyes bluer than the Atlantic; he is soft and rosy pale with an eager, smiling mouth and chubby, well nourished limbs that eagerly micmic his father’s every move. Unlike Ciel, Gabriel is healthy and boisterous and so full of life and energy. He is his mother’s son, forever giggling and prying into other people’s hearts though Sebastian is reverent of the child’s inherent goodness.

The butler seems so attuned to Gabriel’s every need that Lizzy has not felt the exhaustion of motherhood. Though it has been little more than two weeks, Sebastian has proven himself a diligent guard dog, cradling, tending, and even singing to the child. There seems to be a hint of possessive jealously in his every move, as if the babe is his and no one else’s. Lizzy thinks it fond and merry but Ciel has begun to loathe every move his butler makes and his violent temper has only grown these past few days.

 

* * *

 

The hour is close to midnight and Lizzy cannot sleep. Instead, she adorns herself in a pale pink dressing gown and rose petal slippers and slips into the night, walking down the corridors of Phantomhive Manor without the assistance of light. She knows these hallways better than even the servants (save Sebastian) and quietly opens the nursery door to see a pool of moonlight bathing her and Ciel’s child.

Gabriel sleeps with angelic virtue in his monstrous rosewood cradle, dressed in cashmere with soft blankets piled on top of him. Not a sound escapes his lips.

“Did I wake you?”

Lizzy nearly yelps at the sudden intrusion but manages to hold her tongue. Ciel appears by her side, ivory and cobalt. “I apologize if I have.” He moves to stand by her, eyes fixed on the sleeping infant in his plush new staterooms.

“My thoughts woke me, not you.” Lizzy reassures, leaning into him and, to her surprise, Ciel’s arm comes to wrap around her waist. He is not usually so affectionate. “I think of so many things at night that I have begun to worry myself.”

“Indeed?”

“Oh yes. You know they say that madness is lit by the moon and genius is born from madness.”

He looks down at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “Is that so?”

“Very much. I posit that come the full moon, I will have achieved something terribly important to the scientific community but will have lost all sense in doing so. I’ll be combining floral and paisley and trusting Bard with the gardening at midnight.” She pauses. “I may even consider singing in Turkish. Everything fashionable is supposed to be Turkish.”

Mirth dances in Ciel’s sapphire eyes and the rarity of the act arouses her curiosity. 

“Shall I worry about your eventual coup de grâce now or later?” His left hand comes to brush against her cheek. “Are you determined to be my Isabella of Castile?”

She made a face. “You dislike Spanish history.”

“But I know it still.” He gives a rueful smile. “The discipline of culture comes from pragmatism. That is why Rome is revered and Pontus unremembered.”

A strange lull falls in between them, one reminiscent of a nightingale’s song after the melody has faded. Casement windows running from floor to ceiling let in a midnight glow, tinted blue from the stained glass and reminding Lizzy of burnished ultramarine, the color palette of Van Gogh.

A soft sigh escapes her lips as she falls against Ciel’s shoulder, marveling that he is still here after all these years.

“Elizabeth.”

“Yes?”

“I will have to go away very soon.”

The brush of her curls against Ciel’s waistcoat is the only sound there is. “For how long?” She is resigned to his absences as he is the Queen’s Watchdog and she cannot fault him for honoring the legacy that has been forced on him.

Ciel does not answer immediately. 

Hesitation is an insincere sight and Lizzy feels something press against her heart—something cold and unyielding, like ice. “Ciel?”

“A week at most.”

Relief fills her. “Why, that isn’t very long at all!” She beams brightly. “You shall be back in time for mama’s birthday!”

“Would you execute me otherwise?”

“Oh no. I love you far too much to punish you for such a transgression. But mama might not take too kindly to your absence.” She teases but senses a shift in the air. “Where will you go?”

“Wales.”

“So far?”

Ciel’s hand trails from Lizzy’s waist to her hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss on her palm. “Yes.”

“Would it be terribly foolish if I asked you to protect yourself?”

“I’ve never tried to play the hero, Lizzy.” That, then, is the bitter truth, and it rings like a tuning fork through the still air.

She smiles, gazing up at him with an expression that is close to adoration. “One of the many reasons I love you.”

“Because I lack grandiloquence?”

“Because you always return to me.” She returns deliberately, watching how his body stills for half a measure before he is all calm control once more, pressing her palm to his cheek. “Say you’ll return to me.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Ciel.”

“Do you think he’ll remember me?” Sapphire eyes are fixed on the sleeping child, dozing so softly in the brasserie while they watch on.

There is a note of finality about his tone and it tears Lizzy down, ripping her apart flesh from bone. She forces herself from his side, wanting to look at him directly because Ciel has always been so very elusive, here one minute, gone the next. Her fingers come to brush against his cheek and he allows this, arms by his side, eyes piercing into her own.

“Would you take me with you?” She whispers, voice trembling with agony and desire. She would go anywhere with him—do anything for him—but he cannot leave her alone.

He can’t leave her. Not again.

He seems to know it too, for the smile that decorates his lips is an anguished plea of forgiveness—the crescendo of an opera that was never meant to be staged. He presses his own hand against hers, half wishing he could sear her touch into his skin to remember her always. She blinks once, twice—and her eyes glitter with what Ciel refuses to identify as tears.

“Our son needs his mother.” He murmurs, low and soft and painfully resigned. “Love him enough for the both of us.”

A broken sob, muffled by her right left hand, chokes past her lips. Two dewdrops roll down her cheeks, wet and silver in the blue moonlight. Here they stand in the solitude of goodbye and he gently pries her palm away from her mouth, wishing to see her face because, despite his silence, she is beautiful.

“Elizabeth.”

“Please don’t say that.” She looks away and he catches a glimpse of her profile, etched into the darkness by the stars themselves.

There are a thousand things he could say but no given phrase could match the years of hidden longing that have been hushed by the steadfast drive of his black ambition. Every slight catch of breath, the brief lingering of his hand on her lower back…the seconds that drift by when he looks into her eyes and can’t bring himself to quit her, not just yet. She is haloed in his mind, daffodil gold and forever young; he wishes to keep her like this, lovely and eternal, but there is no amount of duplicity he can evoke—no amount of effort he can contrive—that will prevent his departure from his world.

“Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou,” he whispers, lips barely moving as Lizzy cries in earnest now, silent tears falling from her eyes. “Please, Lizzy.” He steps closer so their chests are pressed together, one arm around her waist the other tangled in her hair. “Once more.”

She shakes her head, lips unable to speak.

Ciel smiles, kissing her forehead. “Then I will say it for the both of us.” He leans back, gazing into those emerald depths that have always betrayed her heart and soul’s desire. “Not in lone splendor hung aloft in the night; and watching, with eternal lids apart,” he leads her from Gabriel’s nursery and into the darkened corridor, echoed with darkness and gauzy with shadows born from the moon and night. “Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite; the moving waters at their priest-like task; of pure ablution round earth’s human shores.” The words are kissed by the pages of time, a century of prose leaving his mouth to caress this stolen epoch between them.

They are now halfway to their bedchamber and Lizzy is watching with wide, wet eyes as Ciel’s gaze never leaves her, as he navigates them through the labyrinth of hallways and closed doors, a faint smile on his mouth.

“Will you say it now?” He asks tenderly, opening a familiar mahogany door and letting them into a chamber of rich ermine and cobalt silk.

Elizabeth shakes her head, gentle refusal tempered by heartache.

His eyes gaze to the silent night, the white December chill hanging in the air. “Then gaze on the new soft-fallen mask; of snow upon mountains and the moors—“ he takes a breath, laying Lizzy down on the cool satin sheets of their bed. “No—“ he smiles, hand brushing away a loose golden curl, “yet still steadfast, still unchangeable; pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast; to feel forever its soft fall and swell,” he leans down, dark bangs brushing against Lizzy’s temple. “Awake forever in a sweet unrest.” He presses a fluttering, gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath.”

Ciel falls prey to the jade green of her eyes, watches as they shimmer with final delight, feels the warmth of her hand on his cheek…

“And so live ever—“ she whispers, “or else swoon to death.”

_Ciel._

**Author's Note:**

> \- Isabella of Castile (1451-1504) was the queen of Castile and wife to Ferdinand of Aragon. Their marriage solidified the unification of Spain; yet Isabella was far from the ignorant medieval princess trope. She reorganized the Spanish government and brought new reforms that dropped the country’s crime rates to the lowest they’d ever been and unburdened Spain from her brother’s enormous debts. Isabella also fought in the war with Portugal, personally commanding troops and quelling rebellions in Segovia in 1476. She was described by her contemporaries as possessing “purity of heart…[and] grandness of [the] soul.” She is mother to two of history’s best known queens: Katharine of Aragon (first wife of King Henry VIII) and Joanna of Castile (better known as Joanna the Mad). 
> 
> \- Pontus refers to the Kingdom of Pontus founded by Mithridates I in 281 BC but was conquered by the Roman Republic in 63 BCE. 
> 
> \- Poem Ciel quotes is none other than John Keats’ sonnet ‘Bright Star’, dedicated to his fiancée Frances “Fanny” Brawne. It was written between 1819 and 1821 by Keats as a declaration of love to the only woman who mattered but Keats died that same year, February 1821, of tuberculosis. He and Fanny never married. 
> 
> **Comme des enfants = Like children (title derived from Coeur de pirate’s song of the same name) 
> 
> A/N: I really tried to make this fluffy but somehow everything turns to tragedy with Ciel and Lizzy. (But I guess that’s what makes this pairing so addictive.) 
> 
> Feedback welcomed :)


End file.
